Sailors with shackles

"Ain't it easy ter pass judgment. Don't matter if someone tries..or not. Jus' how likable he is,.. who's his friends are." He said that angrily. "For all the world I could have saved all yer lives an' you'd still judge me poor." He looked away. He could have written to his parents and demanded or requested that they pull strings, pull on connections, if any they had. But he did not. He braved it, he lied to them about how fine a life was here, as a midshipman when he was in truth a Tar.

"No matter wot'.."

From here.

It was at this moment that a freshly-scrubbed, short-haired Fingers ran down the ladder, utterly dwarfed by a red jacket with white chevrons on the sleeve. He did not see anything but the steps as he fled for the safety of the depths of the ship.


Carries on to here.

There was no getting through to this idiot. Ware wasn't even sure why he was trying. "I reckon you oughta just shut it," he said irritably. The slap of bare feet on the ladder drew his attention and he looked aft in time to see a scarlet blur of motion. That was Corporal Johnson's jacket, but it wasn't Corporal Johnson wearing it.

"Fingers!"

The boy was gone down the next ladder, however, and gave no sign of having heard.

"Runnin' like there's fire on 'is tail." He felt no pity for the boy, who was cleaner and shorter haired than before. He might have escaped from above if not for the coat that he was carrying on his shoulders. He doubted that he could have managed to steal it off of a marine. "..'fraid o' his own shadow." He muttered dully. He hated it all. Hated it. Just hated it.

Ware's foot flicked out sharply. "I dunno what all you done up top, boy, but I'll take ten lads like Fingers over you, any day. Now shut your gob. If you get a floggin', it'll not be too soon!"

"Shows wot' low standard you've got then." He snapped back. When hurt, it was always best to bite back. "..he'd cry you a river if 'e saw t' gratin'.. I won't."

The musket butt came up off the deck, just a little. "If you don't button your gob, I'll do it for you."

"Do it then. Dun' know wot' an assault at a prisoner who'd done nothin' costs you.." The lad said. He knew he should not have used the jacket no more so he pulled it of his shoulders and placed it beside him. He could do with a bit of cold if it came. Now he could, upset as he was.

"An' who'd believe you?"

"...Strike then. Ain't nothin' you need to fear. Ain't never have been." There was more to it than that. His near killer had not been discovered. Never would be. The effort to find him was nil. He did not expect he would be believed. Harboured no hopes for that.

Ware was tempted. Very sorely. "Why," he said through gritted teeth, "can't you just. Sit. Quiet? Or are you really as stupid's all that?"

"I can sit, quiet. N' I ain't stupid." He shrugged, withdrawn. "But.. if it'll make you feel better, why not give you a good, solid excuse to hit me, eh?...So's you don't feel t' need ter worry 'bout t' wrong you might've done. Have a good, fine excuse for doing it."

The musket butt rapped lightly against the boy's shoulder. "One more word, an' I'll knock you clean to France. Serve you right!" Really. There was no doing anything good with this idiot. "Dunno what Thompson and Chase sees in you, no lie."

De Guarde did not reply. He shrugged and lowered his gaze. It was not something he had not heard said before. Not something he did not expect to hear again. Perhaps Thompson and Chase would not want to see him after this. He gave them all right not to. They had all the reason to avoid him. He pulled himself closer to the shackles keeping him in place, and rested his chin on his knees.

He came from here

Terry flew down the companionway, nearly missing his footing at one point, but barely paused to get his breath before he was off, heading in the same direction as the redcoat-clad ship's boy who had passed a few minute before.

He carries on down to here.

There was a pitterpatter of feet down the companionway. A quick run of a light, smaller person proved to be the right guess. De Guarde lifted his gaze. The boy appeared and passed and then disappeared from view again. Perhaps just for a moment he thought that the lad intended to come visit him. It did not turn out so, though. The boy was gone. He dropped his gaze again when he was certain nobody would come.

De Guarde closed his eyes. Since he could neither sew nor carve, nor drink, he could at the very least sleep.

Coming from here.

He was dripping a little as he headed down the companionway, and his shoes were squelching a bit. He didn't particularly want to talk to de Guarde, who had so completely disgraced himself in front of a fair proportion of Terpsy's crew.

He turned towards the irons and their sole occupant. Looked like Ware was on sentry. Poor sod; he'd probably had an earful from the boy in the irons.

"'Lo, Berty," he said, approaching them.

Hmmwhat? Ware blinked, swallowed a yawn, and peered sleepily at the newcomer. It wasn't an officer - but he'd have sensed that and been ready for it.

" 'Lo, Georgie," he replied.

De Guarde slowly stirred from his half asleep state, just to shift around on his left side, as best he could, and close his eyes again. Ware was getting a visit, he would not intrude on it.

"You oughta head up on deck an' get yourself a scrubbin', Berty. That'd wake you up," Thompson said, tugging his damp shirt away from his chest. It settled right back when he let go, and he sighed.

Hah. Not today. Too much else to do today, without adding that. "Maybe 'nother day," he replied lazily. "What's brung you 'round here?"

"The boy," Thompson said. "I'd like a word, if you don't mind him havin' a visitor. Won't get you in trouble, though."

Ware shrugged. "Welcome to it, mate."

"Cheers, mate," Thompson said and crossed over to de Guarde. He looked down at the boy, feeling suddenly very tired.

"de Guarde? You awake?" he asked, half-hoping he wasn't.

Thompson's hopes were answered, as the boy, curled up at best the shackles allowed him, was sleeping soundly by now. The jacket that he had earlier pushed away was now used as a bit of a pillow and in part to soften the hard floors. He did not look happy, but he did look somewhat more peaceful.